


Interlude

by trasshboat



Category: Fable (Video Games), Fable 2 (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Love Confessions, Mutual Pining, Post-Spire, Somewhat canon-compliant, Tender Sex, also theresa is bad and i don't trust her at all, sparrow returns from the spire and is big feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 12:07:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15949019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trasshboat/pseuds/trasshboat
Summary: The chilled rain trickles through the cracks of the awning overhead, the fabric on Sparrow’s shoulders already soaked through and chilling her to her bones. But she doesn’t really feel it. The cold is familiar to her, and there are much more uncomfortable things preoccupying her mind. She can hear raucous laughter floating from the open doors of the Rookridge Inn, a familiar voice mixed in with the sound. Her heart pounds—she’s been stuck out here for the past half hour, hiding in the dark and trying to muster up the courage to justwalk through the damn door.(In which Sparrow and Hammer's reunion at the Rookridge Inn goes a little differently.)





	Interlude

_The cold of the floor seeps into Sparrow’s grungy uniform, the pallet beneath her doing little to dispel the chill. She’s staring at the rocky ceiling of the barracks and trying to catch her breath. Her heart’s still racing from the nightmare she’s just woken from. But it’s just another restless night in a string of many, and Sparrow is already forgetting the contents of the dream. The afterimage of a familiar face framed by coarse, brown hair still lingers at the edge of her consciousness, but the harder she tries to focus on the face’s features, the quicker the image fades from her mind._

_She aches. But not from the hard ground digging through the mattress into her back. It’s a deeper ache, one that’s only burrowed farther into her chest with each passing day in this damp, dark pit in the middle of the ocean. Sparrow is glad that the face in her mind has dissipated completely, because she gets the feeling that holding onto the image would only worsen the dull pain that’s laced itself throughout her entire body._

_As she sits up on the mildewed mattress, pushing herself up with scarred hands, Sparrow can feel tremors coursing through her biceps and down her forearms. She laughs humorlessly—her body remembers the past day’s deeds before her brain does. She’d put much more force into the blow than needed, given how utterly broken Bob had already been, her blade ricocheting off of the stone floor with a sharp pang after slicing through the pitiful man with ease. Even the red of his blood seemed to be dulled by the Spire’s influence._

_She’d wondered if he even felt it. She hadn’t felt a thing at all._

Shaking her head to clear her mind of the painful daydream, Sparrow reaches down to scratch Barnabas behind his ear and smiles at the wellspring of adoration she sees in his eyes. His company alone has awoken the flickering flame of humanity within her, a flame she thought long extinguished. A familiar pang of guilt squeezes at her chest when she notices the tinges of white fur around the mutt’s dark eyes. He’s staring up at her with adoring eyes, his tail wagging as he nuzzles into her hand with his entire face. He’d greeted her at the dock upon her return with all the love he’d shown her before her departure to the Spire, but Sparrow can’t forgive herself for abandoning him for all those years. She _won’t_ forgive herself. 

The chilled rain trickles through the cracks of the awning overhead, the fabric on Sparrow’s shoulders already soaked through and chilling her to her bones. But she doesn’t really feel it. The cold is familiar to her, and there are much more uncomfortable things preoccupying her mind. She can hear raucous laughter floating from the open doors of the Rookridge Inn, a familiar voice mixed in with the sound. Her heart pounds—she’s been stuck out here for the past half hour, hiding in the dark and trying to muster up the courage to just _walk through the damn door_.

Jumping into action has always been easy for Sparrow. Thoughtless, actually. Her body never fails to move before her mind does, not even back during her first true battle against Thag and his lackeys. And even when she had to leave her dog, her weapons, and Hammer behind on that dock before she traveled alone into the Spire, she boarded the boat without looking back.

But now, _now_ she’s finding it impossible to simply walk through the worn door to her side, choosing instead to hide under the leaky paneling above her and awkwardly fidget with her weapons. She reaches over her shoulder to grab the handle of her Master Hammer. The grooves on the handle still fit snugly into her grip, but the weapon feels unfamiliar to her. 

She hasn't the slightest clue how to approach Hammer.

It's been a full decade since their last goodbye, and during her last year or two in the Spire, Sparrow had begun to think that she'd never get the chance to say goodbye—let alone hello—to Hammer ever again. And now that Sparrow’s being given the chance to see her again, after she’d already come to terms with the futility of escaping the Spire, she’s _terrified_. She’s terrified of what she’s become, of what the Spire has taken from her. She doesn’t want Hammer to see how much of herself she’s lost, because she’s scared to death of what Hammer would think of the used-up shell Sparrow knows she’s become.

After her time in the claustrophobic, all-encompassing dread of the Spire, the constant pulse of the tower still vibrates in her head. Lucien was right—the Spire’s heartbeat had become her own in time, and with each thrum of the monolith’s energy, Sparrow’s Will had faded into the faint, flickering flame of a worn-down candle. She was ashamed to admit it, but it’d had been a relief of sorts, allowing her Will to dissipate and bending to Lucien’s power. In all honesty, she was used to yielding to other people’s wishes—what was so different about following Theresa’s instructions or Lucien’s commands?

She’d been ready to die in the Spire. She’d given up on the idea of being a Hero. And now that she’s being presented with the life she’d put on hold for the past decade, she isn’t really sure she wants to reclaim it. She has a new perspective of her role as a Hero; there really _was_ little difference between being used by Lucien or by Theresa, and after being puppeted for her whole life, she isn’t sure she can do it anymore. Even if it is for the good of the entire world.

And how the hell can she tell Hammer that? After all they’ve both given up to get to this point? After all the pain, the fear, the ache of loss? 

Yet, the unknown future of her life as a Hero, as a savior of the weak and powerless—that isn’t the thing that scares her the most. Much has changed over the past decade, Sparrow most of all. Yet, one thing has remained clear and consistent through the haze and tumult of her time in the Spire. And that consistency terrifies her.

Her heart flutters erratically, and for a moment she’s sure the only way to calm it is to run as far away from the Rookridge Inn as possible.

But at the unmistakable sound of Hammer’s laughter, Barnabus makes a different decision for Sparrow—with ears perked up and tail wagging, he suddenly dashes through the open doors of the building. He'd spent the past decade by Hammer’s side, so Sparrow can hardly blame him for bounding toward the melody of her voice.

Sparrow moves without thinking, jumping through the doors after the scruffy dog without fully grasping the consequences of her actions. When her mind catches up with her body, she freezes, half-crouching with her arms raised to grab Barnabus. Her eyes are willfully trained on the ground, and a thousand thoughts race through her head. But none of these thoughts crystallize into coherence, and Sparrow resigns herself to the uselessness of her brain. 

It takes all the Will in her body to force her eyes to look up.

And when she finally does, she realizes—with Hammer’s eyes crinkled at the corners, Hammer’s whole focus on her, Hammer’s smile casting a spell on her stronger than anything Sparrow could hope to conjure herself—that she already knew how unnecessary it was to overthink any of this.

She cries. It comes out of nowhere, and the rivulets tracing their way down her face rival the rain pouring outside. She cries in front of everyone, ugly and ungraceful, and Hammer calls her an old slag with all the affection in the world and now Sparrow’s crying _and_ laughing in a display probably unbefitting of a Hero but she doesn't _care_ , not when Hammer’s looking at her with the same mix of genuine adoration and relief she'd worn after Sparrow beat the Crucible.

Hammer closes the distance between them, sweeping Sparrow into a crushing but comforting hug. They embrace each other long enough to forget that other people are present, only separating at the sound of awkward shuffling coming from the other patrons who’d been stunned into silence by the display. 

Hammer pulls away, placing her hands on Sparrow’s shoulders. Sparrow can tell from Hammer’s eyes how many questions she must have, but she can also tell how ecstatic Hammer is to see her again. The realization hits her full-force, and she starts crying even harder.

“Alright you old crow, let's not make a scene in front of all these nice drunkards, shan’t we?” Hammer’s voice is all honey and warmth. She clasps Sparrow’s hand in hers, the backs of their hands wearing matching sets of scars, some newer than others. Sparrow distractedly wonders how many battles she’d missed while she was gone—there’s a sharp twinge of regret at the thought of how many of those battles Hammer fought alone.

She's gently pulled out of her thoughts by a soft tug at her arm and a “Well, how about it?” Wiping her eyes with her other hand, Sparrow squeezes Hammer’s hand and nods in affirmation.

\---

They lay facing each other on the grimy bed, alone in the room while Barnabus is downstairs swindling the barkeep into giving him leftovers from dinner. Their faces are inches away as Hammer’s fingers comb softly through Sparrow’s hair. The gentleness of Hammer’s touch should be at odds with the rough calluses on her palms, but the combination just makes sense; Hammer has always worn a thick armor to compensate for her bleeding heart. 

Sparrow’s still not ready to address the intimacy of their position, or the implications of the looks they keep giving each other. Right now, she just wants to absorb enough of Hammer’s presence to make up for the past decade without her. The musty sheets they lay on are spotted with mysterious stains, and the smell of vomit wafts into the room through the space under the door, but all Sparrow can see is the lamplight reflecting off of Hammer’s bright, deep set eyes.

“What do you say we just… just leave this whole mess with Lucien and the Spire behind us, Theresa and the world be damned? We can make it on our own easily, and it’s not like any of those ungrateful sods deserves anymore of our help.” Hammer would sound angry to anyone who overheard her, but Sparrow can hear the stress behind the words. 

She knows that Hammer doesn't mean any of it, but Sparrow must have a strange expression on her face, because Hammer just keeps talking herself into a hole—something she does much more efficiently when she's anxious.

“It's not our job to put everyone's happiness before our own. You’ve already given up so much for people who only expect more and more from you. It's time for everyone to start taking care of themselves and stop relying on you to solve all their problems.” Her voice picks up in volume the more worked up she gets. “By Avo, you gave up ten years of your life in the Spire just because Theresa told you it was necessary! It must have been hell for you, and I just… I felt so _helpless_ not being able to help you at all, not knowing how you were getting on in that prison.” Hammer deflates a bit, and weary exhaustion echoes through her words. “I never stopped believing in you at any point while you were gone but... it’s not like I never worried about you.” 

There’s a fragile look in Hammer’s eyes as she avoids looking into Sparrow’s, and Sparrow doesn’t think she’s seen her so vulnerable since Hammer’s father passed away. Sparrow gently, haltingly, rests a hand on Hammer’s waist, trying to comfort her without overstepping any boundaries. 

Hammer’s body visibly relaxes at the touch. She takes a shaky breath, finally looking into Sparrow’s eyes. “You're more than capable, I know, I know. And I know I seem like a proper tosser for implying you can't take care of yourself but I can't stop myself from worrying for you any more than I can stop myself from lov-”

She cuts herself off, her fingers stalling in Sparrow’s hair and her eyes going impossibly wide. Hammer goes to say something, but no words come out. But while Hammer's busy desperately trying to backtrack, Sparrow’s already latched onto the implication of that single syllable and can't—won’t—let it go. It's been ten years of regret, anxiety, and hopelessness for Sparrow, and now that she finally knows how Hammer’s felt for so many years now? She'd be damned if she let Hammer talk her way out if this.

Before Hammer has the chance to force any words out, Sparrow moves her hand from Hammer’s waist to her cheek. Hammer looks like she's facing a death sentence rather than the woman she’s just admitted to loving, her shoulders tensed to her ears and mouth hanging slightly open. Sparrow runs her thumb across Hammer’s cheekbone, and then again across her bottom lip.

If Hammer was tense before, now she looks about ready to snap in two. But still, she makes no move to back away from Sparrow’s touch, instead absentmindedly licking her bottom lip and, in the process, gently running her tongue against Sparrow's fingertip. 

The atmosphere shifts as they hold that position, Sparrow’s eyes keeping Hammer’s captive as they hold a silent conversation solely through meaningful looks. The room is quiet, the lateness of the hour silencing even those inn patrons last to stumble to bed. Sparrow can feel her heartbeat in her ears—she wants so much, maybe too much. She wants Hammer with her whole being, but she waits for Hammer to make the first move.

Finally, Hammer breaks the silence. “Sparrow,” her voice cracks on the name. “I’m in love with you. Knew it after the Crucible, but I’ve a feeling that I’ve been in love with you for longer and by Avo I wish I'd known sooner on account of the decade I spent agonizing over whether or not you loved me back but my feelings have only gotten stronger an-"

She cuts herself off when she notices how close Sparrow has moved to her face. It had been a tactical move—Sparrow knows how Hammer gets, and she's been patient enough that she feels justified in cutting Hammer’s spiel short. Sparrow's heart is so full from the admission that she needs to do something soon to relieve the pressure in her chest.

Sparrow brings their faces together even closer still, until only a hair’s breadth of space separates them and she can feel Hammer’s short but soft breaths on her lips. With just a look, with her eyebrows raised in question, she asks Hammer to close the distance.

Hammer doesn't move at first, but when she does it's with a maddeningly slow pace. And when their lips finally, _finally_ meet, it's so soft that Sparrow wouldn't have felt it had she not been so entirely focused on the act. Warmth explodes in her chest at the contact and she turns the kiss from chaste to ravenous in a split second. It catches Hammer off guard, her lips stalling against Sparrow's for only a moment before she's returning the kiss with a matched fervor. 

They kiss like they're starving, and for how long they've both waited for this, they may very well be. It's sloppy and desperate, their breaths coming in short huffs whenever they manage to separate. Sparrow clutches Hammer’s broad shoulders as they press even closer together, still laying on their sides. But then Sparrow licks into Hammer’s mouth, causing her to moan huskily, and suddenly Sparrow finds herself pinned to the mattress beneath them. 

Hammer’s toned forearms brace against the mattress, her eyes blown wide with need and her nose mere centimeters away from Sparrow’s. She pushes herself up from her forearms to her hands, staring down at Sparrow with mirth in her dark eyes. “So, I take it that the feeling is mutual, then?” Hammer says jokingly between breaths, through the heat still present in her voice. 

Sparrow only snorts, beside herself with happiness, and pulls Hammer down by the front of her shirt into another deep kiss. But before she gets the chance to explore the inside of Hammer's mouth once more, Hammer’s pushing off and up, settling onto her haunches while still straddling Sparrow’s waist. 

“Wait, love.” Hammer's voice sounds of barely restrained arousal, a tinge of regret in her voice as she averts her gaze from Sparrow. She’s about to go into another monologue, Sparrow can tell. But she makes no move to stop her, sensing the urgency in what Hammer has to tell her. 

“I've loved you for a long time now, and now I know you have, too. I dream of kissing you nearly every night, and of this every time my mind wanders.” Hammer's voice wavers as if she's embarrassed by her own words. “Anyway, what I'm saying is… I want you.” 

Sparrow's heart flutters as Hammer looks directly into her eyes. Sparrow understands the intent behind the words, and it takes everything in her to restrain herself from pulling Hammer back down on top of her; Hammer has more to say, and Sparrow doesn't want to distract her. 

“I want you, but if you… if you don't want me like this, then we can just stop right now and I'll just be happy to share this bed with you.” She's still looking into Sparrow's eyes, waiting for her response before she does anything else.

In turn, Sparrow reaches up to Hammer, hands trailing to the nape of her neck. Gently, she guides Hammer down for a kiss. Sweetly, she pecks Hammer on the lips. 

Then suddenly, she grinds her thigh up between Hammer’s legs, pressing firmly against her and startling a breathy moan out of Hammer's mouth. Sparrow grins up at her, all teeth and challenge.

After regaining some composure, Hammer returns Sparrow’s challenging smile with a smirk of her own, though her traitorous hips still follow Sparrow’s thigh as it falls back down to the mattress. “Oh, is that how we’re doing this, love?” 

She leans down to brace her forearms on the mattress beside Sparrow's head, biceps tightening from the effort. Sparrow can’t help the heat pooling in her stomach from the image of Hammer's well-toned arms boxing her in—she’s always found Hammer's physique distractingly perfect, and being this close to her is almost too much.

And when Hammer reaches up Sparrow's blouse to splay rough fingers against the soft skin of her breasts, Sparrow can't help the needy whine that falls from her lips—just that simple touch lights up all of her nerves to the point of burning. 

She'd wanted to move slowly, tender enough to convey the depth of her feelings for Hammer. But she realizes that she can't wait another minute to have Hammer—there would be more opportunities for foreplay, for sensuality, in the future. Now, though, Sparrow is too wound up to act gracefully. It’s time to jump into action, thoughtlessly as usual.

Sparrow throws her weight into twisting her hips, using the momentum to knock Hammer off balance until she's able to flip Hammer onto the mattress, effectively switching their positions. Her pupils are blown wide as she stares down at Hammer, the two of them panting in tandem.

There's only a moment of silence before they're tearing each other's clothes off, placing stray kisses on each other's bodies whenever they're able. It's only when they're both fully naked that they pause their feverish, desperate movements.

Sparrow stares at Hammer—they sit facing each other—and admires the curves of her body, the lines of her built frame. Here, too, they wear matching scars. Absently, she reaches out and traces a finger down a fresh scar on Hammer’s sternum. Her body is battle-worn and shows the weight of the many hardships she's endured. The angry lines of scar tissue on her skin look almost intentional, like intricately drawn tattoo designs. 

As Sparrow’s looking at Hammer, her heart wells with emotion. This is the body of the woman she loves, a body that perfectly reflects the soul inside, and only one thought comes to her mind.

“Beautiful.” But it's Hammer who's speaking, her hushed whisper almost reverent. Then, gently, she reaches forward to caress Sparrow’s waist. They explore each other's bodies with curious hands and deft fingers, touching each other until they’re swept into the same feverish pace from before.

It doesn’t take long for their hands to travel lower down each other’s bodies in search of the same place. Hammer’s hand finds its way between Sparrow’s legs first, the contact making Sparrow’s hips buck into Hammer’s palm as a needy moan rumbles in her chest.

Hammer smiles at her but stays quiet, apparently out of things to say.

They make love the same way they once sparred together—perfectly matched, a constant struggle to gain the upper hand, but never violent. Passionate, of course, with tender kisses placed between thighs and love bites left on necks, but also light and fun. Playful. It's amazing, Sparrow thinks, how easily they’ve fallen into this new type of relationship. So easily that it's clear how long they've both wanted this.

They finish at the same time, bodies pressed impossibly close together and a string of ‘I love you’s tying them together even tighter. They hold each other in the dark room, the candle having burned out sometime during their sparring match. The only sound besides their breathing is the steady patter of rain against the window.

And Sparrow is the happiest she's been in years.  
—-  
Sparrow lay awake long after Hammer had fallen asleep with her arm and leg splayed across Sparrow’s body. The rain still taps against the windowpane, and Barnabus has found his way to the foot of the bed. He snores softly in harmony with Hammer as he curls against the two women’s feet. Sparrow’s mind is wandering, thoughts of blood and a steady thrum gradually melting into memories of laughter and skin on skin. She feels lucky, happy. But these feelings are only surface level, a thin film on an endlessly deep and cold pool of water. This comfort she feels cannot last while Lucien remains in power, and Sparrow cannot be complicit in the destruction of the world as it is. Her conditioning to be selfless and strong for the sake of others still lingers, and she knows that she'll do anything to keep Hammer safe and ensure their future together. 

Her resolve is set, albeit reluctantly. She knows what she needs to do, what she's always needed to do.

Just for one night, for this moment, they could pretend that everything would be fine. Right now, there is no threat looming over their heads, only the soft patter of rain on the roof of the dingy old Rookridge Inn. Tomorrow, Sparrow would return to the good puppet she's always been, following the wishes of everyone but herself. But now, now she would be selfish, holding onto the first warm feeling she's felt for over a decade, drinking in every moment of calm with the snoring woman curled up beside her. And maybe, for just awhile longer, she could hold onto the fantasy of a peaceful, self-assured future with the one she loves. 

Just for one night.

**Author's Note:**

> there's a distressingly low amount of hammer fics in the fable tag so i'm trying to fix that, i hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> big shoutout to twitter user @newtalax for beta-ing and helping me finish this!!!!
> 
> (also i wanted to comment on hammer's use of "avo," it's my headcanon that even though she's a member of the temple of light, she does still hold belief in the old gods. also it sounds better to say "by avo" than "by the god of light" imo)


End file.
